The Ivory Trail Read online

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE NJO HAPA SONG

  Tongues! Oh, music of eastern tongues, harmonied murmur of streets ahum! Trade! Oh, frasila weights of clove--ivory--copra--copal gum-- Rubber--vanilla and tortoise-shell! The methods change. The captains come.

  I was old when the clamor o' Babel's end (All seas were chartless then!) Drove forth the brood, and Solitude Was the newest quest of men. I lay like a gem in a silken sea Unseen, uncoveted, unguessed Till scented winds that waft afar Bore word o' the warm delights there are Where ground-swells sing by Zanzibar Long rhapsodies of rest.

  Wild, oh wilder than winter blasts my wet skies shriek when the winds are freed. Mild, oh milder than virgin mirth is the laugh o' the reefs where sea-birds feed, Screaming and skirling and down again. (Though the sea-birds warn do captains heed?)

  There is no public landing wharf at Zanzibar. Passengers have tosubmit their persons into the arms of loud-lunged Swahili longshoremen,who recognize one sole and only point of honor: neither passenger norluggage shall be dropped into the surf.

  Their invariable habit, the instant the view-halloa is raised, is toscamper headlong, pounce on the victim and pull him apart (or so itfeels) until fortune, superior strength, or some such element decidesthe point; and then more often than not it is the victim's fate to becarried between two men, each hold of a thigh, each determined to getashore or to the boat first, and each grimly resolved not to let gountil three times the proper fee shall have been paid. Of only thesetwo things let the passenger assure himself--fight how he may, he willneither escape their clutches nor get wet. Rather they will hold himupside-down until the contents of his pockets fall into the surf. Dryon the beach or into the boat they will dump him. And whatever heshall pay them will surely be insufficient.

  But we had a privy councilor of England of our party, and favors wereshown us that never fall to the lot of ordinary travelers. Oppositethe Sultan's palace is the Sultan's private wharf, so royal and privatethat it is a prison offense to trespass on it without writtenpermission. Because of his official call at the Residency, and of hiscard left on the Sultan, wires had been pulled, and a pompousindividual whose black face sweated greasily, and whose palm itched forunearned increment, called on Monty very shortly after breakfast withintimation that the wharf had been placed at our disposal, since HisHighness the Sultan desired to do us honor.

  So when the B. I. steamer dropped anchor in the great roadstead shortlyafter noon we were taken to the wharf by one of the Sultan'shousehold--a very civil-spoken Arab gentleman--and three Englishofficers met us there who made a fuss over Monty and were at pains tobe agreeable to the rest of us. While we stood chatting and waitingfor the boat that should row us and belongings the mile-and-a-half orso to the steamer, I saw something that made me start. Fred gazedpresently in the same direction.

  "Johnson is number one!" he said, as if checking off my mentalprocesses. He meant Hassan. "Number two is Georges Coutlass, ourfriend the Greek. Number three is--am I drunk this early in theday?--what do you see?--doesn't she look to you like?--by the big blindgod of men's mistakes it's--Monty! Didums, you deaf idiot, look! See!"

  At that everybody naturally looked the same way. Everybody nodded.Coutlass the Greek, and Hassan, reputed nephew of Tippoo Tib, wereheaded in one boat toward the steamer, the worse for the handling, butright side up and no angrier than the usual passenger. Following themwas another boat containing a motley assortment of Arabs andpart-Arabs, who might, or might not be associated with them.

  On the beach still, surrounded yet by a swarm of longshoremen whoyelled and fought, Lady Isobel Saffren Waldon and her Syrian maid stoodat bay. Her two Swahili men-servants were overwhelmed and alreadybeing carried to a boat. Her luggage was being borne helter-skelterafter them, and another boat waited for her just beyond the belt ofsurf, the rowers standing up to yell encouragement at the sweating packthat dared not close in on its victims. Lady Isobel Saffren Waldonappeared to have no other weapon than a parasol, but she had plainlythe upper hand.

  "She has a way with her with natives," said the senior officer present.

  "It's a pity," said Monty. "I mean, one scarcely likes to use thiswharf and watch that."

  "Quite so. Yet we daren't accord her official recognition. She'd becertain to make capital out of it. We're awfully glad she's going.The Residency atmosphere is one huge sigh of relief. We would like tospeed the parting guest, but it mayn't be done. However, you'll knowthere are others not so particular. I imagine her friends are late forthe appointment."

  "Where's she going?" asked Monty.

  "British East Africa."

  "Mombasa?"

  "And then on. She has drafts on a German merchant in Nairobi."

  From that moment until we were safely in our quarters on the steamerMonty's attitude became one of rigid indifference toward her oranything to do with her. The British officers went out to the steamerwith us, but all the way Monty only talked of the climate, tradeconditions, and the other subjects to which polite conversation ofAfrica's east coast is limited. Fred kept nudging him, but Monty tookno notice. Yerkes whispered to Fred. Then I heard Fred whisper toMonty in one of those raucous asides that he perfectly well knows canbe heard by everybody.

  "Why don't you ask 'em about her, you ass?"

  But Monty refused to rise. He talked of the bowed and ancient slavesof Zanzibar, who refused in those days to be set free and affordedprolific ground for attack on British public morals by people whosebusiness it is to abuse England for her peccadillos and forget hervirtues.*

  ---------------* In 1914 there were still thousands of slaves in German East, althoughthe German press and public were ever loudest in their condemnation ofBritish conditions.---------------

  We reached the ship, and were watching our piles of luggage arrive upthe accommodation ladder when the solution of Lady Isobel SaffrenWaldon's problem appeared. She arrived alongside in the official boatof the German consulate, a German officer in white uniform on eitherhand, and the German ensign at the stern.

  "Pretty fair impudence, paying official honors to our undesirables, yetI don't see what we can do," said the senior from the Residency.

  Yerkes drew me aside.

  "Did you ever see anything more stupidly British?" he demanded.

  "It's as obvious as the nose on your face that she's up to some game.It's as plain as twice two that the Germans are backing her whether theBritish like it or not. Look at those two Heinies now!"

  We faced about and watched them. After bowing Lady Waldon to hercabin, they approached our party with brazen claim to recognition--andreceived it. They were met, and spoken to apparently as cordially asif their friendship had been indisputable.

  "Did you ever see anything to beat it? Why not kick 'em into the sea?Either that woman's a crook or she isn't. If she isn't, then theBritish have treated her shamefully, turning their backs on her. Butwe know she is a crook! And so do they. The Germans know it, too, andthey're flaunting her under official British noses! They're using herto start something the British won't like, and the British know it!Yet she's going to be allowed to travel to British territory on aBritish ship, and the Heinies are shaken hands with! If you complainedto Monty I bet he'd say, 'Don't talk fight unless you mean fight!'"

  "Monty might also add, 'Don't talk-fight!'" said I.

  "Oh, rot!" Will answered. "British individuals may bridle a bit, buttheir government'll shut its eyes until too late, whatever happens!You mark my words!"

  We strolled back toward our party in great discontent, I as much as he,never supposing there was another country in the world that could sodeliberately shut its eyes to dog's work until absolutely forced tointerfere, by a hair not quite too late.

  Coutlass and Hassan traveled second-class--the Arab and half-Arabcontingent third--and none of them troubled us, at present, except tha
tWill swore at sight of Coutlass swaggering as if the ship and hercontents were all his.

  "To hear him brag you'd believe the British government afraid of him!"he grumbled.

  But an immediate problem drove Coutlass out of mind. Lady IsobelSaffren Waldon had been given a cabin in line with ours, at the end ofour corridor. Her maid, and her two Swahili servants were obliged topass our doors to get to her cabin at all. As nearly all ships' cabinson those hot routes do, ours intercommunicated by a metal grill forventilating purposes, and a word spoken in one cabin above a whispercould be heard in the next.

  Fred was the first to realize conditions. He opened his door in hisusual abrupt way to visit Monty's cabin and almost fell over the Syrianmaid, her eye at Monty's key-hole--a little too early in the game topass for sound judgment, as Fred was at pains to assure her.

  The alarm being given, we locked our cabin doors, repaired to thesmoking-room, and ordered drinks at a center table where noeavesdropper could overhear.

  "It's one of two things," said Monty. He had his folding board out,and we did not doubt he would play chess from there to London. "Eitherthey know exactly where that ivory is, or they haven't the slightestidea."

  "My, but you're wise!" said Will.

  Monty ignored him. "They suspect us of knowing. They mean to preventour getting any of it. If they do know, they've some reason of theirown for not getting it themselves at present. If they don't know, theysuspect we know and intend to claim what we find."

  "How should they think we know?" objected Will. "The first we everheard of the stuff was in the lazaretto in Zanzibar."

  "True. Juma told us. Juma probably told them that we told him.Natives often put the cart before the horse without the slightestintention of lying."

  "All the same, why should they believe him?"

  "Why not? Zanzibar's agog with the story--after all these years. Theivory must have been buried more than a quarter of a century ago. Someone's been stirring the mud. We arrive, unexpectedly from nowhere, askquestions about the ivory, make plans for British East Africa--andthere you are! The people who were merely determined to get the stuffjump to the false conclusion that we really know where it is.''

  "Q. E. D.!" said Fred, finishing his drink.

  "Not at all," said Monty. "There are two things yet to bedemonstrated. They're true, but not proven. The German government isafter the stuff. And the German government has very special reasonsfor secrecy and tricks."

  "We four against the German government looks like longish odds," saidI.

  "Remains to be seen," said Monty. "If the German government's veryspecial reasons were legal or righteous they'd be announced with afanfare of trumpets."

  "Where's all this leading us?" demanded Fred.

  "To a slight change of plan," said Monty.

  "Thank the lord! That means you don't go to Brussels--stay with us!"

  "Nothing of the sort, Fred. But you three keep together. They'regoing to watch you. You watch them. Watch Schillingschen particularlyclosely, if you find him. The closer they watch you, the more likelythey are to lose sight of me. I'll take care to have several redherrings drawn across my trail after I reach London. Perhaps I'llreturn down the west coast and travel up the Congo River. At any rate,when I do come, and whichever way I come, I'll have everything legal,in writing. Let your game be to seem mysterious. Seem to know morethan you do, but don't tell anybody anything. Above all, listen!"

  Fred leaned back in his chair and laughed.

  "Didums!" he said. "This is the idioticest wild goose chase we everstarted on! I admit I nosed it. I gave tongue first. But think ofit--here we are--four sensible men--hitherto sensible--off after ivorythat nobody can really prove exists, said to be buried somewhere in atract of half-explored country more than a thousand miles each way--andthe German government, and half the criminals in Africa already on ouridiotic heels!"

  "Yet the German government and the crooks seem convinced, too, thatthere's something worth looking for!" laughed Monty. And none of uscould answer that.

  For that matter, none of us would have been willing to withdraw fromthe search, however dim the prospect of success might seem in theintervals when cold reason shed its comfortless rays on us. Intuition,or whatever it is that has proved superior so often to worldly wisdom(temptation, Fred calls it!) outweighed reason, and Fred himself wouldhave been last to agree to forego the search.

  The voyage is short between Zanzibar and Mombasa, but there wasincident. We were spied on after very thorough fashion, Lady SaffrenWaldon's title and gracious bearing (when that suited her) beingpractical weapons. The purser was Goanese--beside himself with thefumes of flattery. He had a pass-key, so the Syrian maid went throughour cabins and searched thoroughly everything except the wallet ofimportant papers that Monty kept under his shirt. The first and secondofficers were rather young, unmarried men possessed of limitlessignorance of the wiles of such as Lady Waldon. It was they who signeda paper recommending Coutlass to the B. I. agents and a lot of otherreputable people in Mombasa and elsewhere, thus offsetting thepossibility that the authorities might not let him land. (Had we knownall that at the time, Monty's word against him might have caused him tobe shipped back whence he came, but we did not find it out untilafterward; nor did we know the law.)

  And at Mombasa we made our first united, serious mistake. It was putto the vote. We all agreed.

  "I can come ashore," said Monty, "introduce you to officialdom, get youput up for the club, and be useful generally. That, though, 'll lendcolor to the theory that you're in league with me--whereas, if I leaveyou to your own resources, that may help lose my scent. When they pickit up again we'll be knowing better where we stand."

  "If you came ashore for a few hours we'd have the benefit of yourprestige," said I.

  "I admit it."

  "I suspect a title's mighty near as useful on British territory as inN'York or Boston," said Will. "We'd bask in smiles."

  "Not wholly," said Monty. "There's another side to that. There's anEnglish official element that would rather be rude to some poor devilwith a title than draw pay (and it loves its pay, you may believe me!).You'd have friends in high places, but make enemies, too, if I goashore with you."

  "What's your own proposal?" Fred demanded.

  "I've stated it. I want you fellows to choose. There's no need of meashore--that's to say, I've a draft to bearer for the amount you threehave in the common fund--here, take it. If you think you'll need morethan that, then I'll have to go to the bank with you and cash some ofmy own draft. I think you'll have enough."

  "Plenty," said Will.

  "Let's send him home!" proposed Fred.

  "How about communications?" We had contrived a code already with theaid of a pocket Portuguese-English dictionary, of which Fred and Montyeach possessed a similar edition.

  "The Mombasa Bank, Will. You keep them posted as to your whereabouts.When I write the bank manager I'll ask him to keep my address a secret."

  So we said good-by to Monty and left him on board, and wished we hadn'ta dozen times before noon next day, and a hundred times within theweek. The last sight we had of him was as the shore boat camealongside the wharf and the half-breed customs officials pouncedsmiling on us. My eyes were keenest. I could see Monty pacing theupper deck, too rapidly for evidence of peace of mind--astraight-standing, handsome figure of a man. I pointed him out to theothers, and we joked about him. Then the gloom of the customs shedswallowed us, and there was a new earth and, for the present, no moresea.

  The island of Mombasa is so close to the cocoanut-fringed mainland thata railway bridge connects them. Like Zanzibar, it is a place ofstrange delights, and bridled lawlessness controlled by the veriesthandful of Englishmen. There are strange hotels--strangedwellings--streets--stores--tongues and faces. The great grim fortthat brave da Gama built, and held against all comers, dominates thesea front and the lower town. The brass-lunged boys who pounce onbaggage, fight
for it, and tout for the grandly named hotels are of asmany tribes as sizes, as many tongues as tribes.

  Everything is different--everything strange--everything, except theheat, delightful. And as Fred said, "some folk would grumble in hell!"Trees, flowers, birds, costumes of the women, sheen of the sea, glintof sun on bare skins of every shade from ivory to ebony, dazzling coralroadway and colored coral walls, babel of tongues, sack-saddled donkeyssleepily bearing loads of coral for new buildings, and--winding in andout among it all--the narrow-gauge tramway on which trolleys pushed bystocky little black men carry officialdom gratis, and the rest of theworld and his wife according to tariff; all those things are thealphabet of Mombasa's charm. Arranged, and rearranged--by chance, byindividual perspective, and by point of view--they spell fascination,attractiveness, glamour, mystery. And no acquaintance with Mombasa,however intimate or old, dispels the charm to the man not guilty ofcynicism. To the cynic (and for him) there are sin--as Africa aloneknows how to sin--disease, of the dread zymotic types--and death; deathpeering through the doors of godowns, where the ivory tusks are piled;death in the dark back-streets of the bazaar, where tired policemenwage lop-sided warfare against insanitary habits and a quiteimpracticable legal code; death on the beach, where cannibal crabsparade in thousands and devour all helpless things; death in the scrub(all green and beautiful) where the tiny streets leave off and snakesclaim heritage; death in the grim red desert beyond the coast-line,where lean, hopeless jackals crack today men's dry bones left fiftyyears ago by the slave caravans--marrowless bones long since strippedclean by the ants. But we are not all cynics.

  Last to be cynic or pessimist was Louis McGregor Abraham, proprietor ofthe Imperial Hotel--Syrian by birth, Jew by creed, Englishman bynationality, and admirer first, last and all the time of all thingsprosperous and promising, except his rival, the Hotel Royal.

  "You came to the right place," he assured us when the last hot porterhad dumped the last of our belongings on the porch, had ceased fromchattering to watch Fred's financial methods, had been paid double thecustomary price, and had gone away grumbling (to laugh at us behind ourbacks). "They'd have rooked you at the other hole--underfed you,overcharged you, and filled you full of lies. I tell the truth to folkwho come to my hotel."

  And he did, some of it. He was inexhaustible, unconquerable, tireless,an optimist always. He had a store that was part of the hotel, inwhich he claimed to sell "everything the mind of man could wish for inEast Africa"; and the boast was true. He even sold American dimenovels.

  "East Africa's a great country!" he kept assuring us. "Some day we'llall be rich! Have to get ready for it! Have to be prepared! Have tostock everything the mind of man can want, to encourage new arrivalsand make the old ones feel at home. Lose a little money, but whygrumble? Get it back when the boom comes. As it will, mind you. Asit will. Can't help it. Richest country in the world--growanything--find anything--game--climate--elevation--scenery--natives bythe million to do the work--all good! Only waiting for white men withenergy, and capital to start things really moving!"

  But there were other points of view. We went to the bank, and foundits manager conservative. The amount of the draft we placed to ourcredit insured politeness.

  "Be cautious," he advised us. "Take a good look round before youcommit yourselves!"

  He agreed to manage the interchange of messages between us and Monty,and invited us all to dinner that evening at the club; so we left thebank feeling friendly and more confident. Later, a chance-met Englishofficial showed us over the old fort (now jail) where men of morebreeds and sorts than Noah knew, better clothed and fed than ever intheir lives, drew endless supplies of water in buckets from da Gama'swell.

  "Some of them have to be kicked out when their sentences expire!" hetold us. "See you at the club tonight. Glad to help welcome you."

  But there was a shock in store, and as time passed the shocks increasedin number and intensity. Our guns had not been surrendered to us bythe customs people. We had paid duty on them second-hand at the ratefor new ones, and had then been told to apply for them at thecollector's office, where our names and the guns' numbers would beentered on the register--for a fee.

  We now went to claim them, and on the way down inquired at a storeabout ammunition. We were told that before we could buy cartridges wewould need a permit from the collector specifying how many, and of whatbore we might buy. There was an Arab in the store ahead of us. He wasbuying Martini Henry cartridges. I asked whether he had a permit, andwas told he did not need one.

  "Being an Arab?" I asked.

  "Being well known to the government," was the answer.

  We left the store feeling neither quite so confident nor friendly. Andthe collector's Goanese assistant did the rest of the disillusioning.

  No, we could not have our guns. No, we could have no permit forammunition. No, the collector was not in the office. No, he would notbe there that afternoon. It was provided in regulations that we couldhave neither guns, sporting licenses, nor permits for ammunition. Theguns were perfectly safe in the government godown--would not betampered with--would be returned to us when we chose to leave thecountry.

  "But, good God, we've paid duty on them!" Oakes protested.

  "You should not have brought the guns with you unless you desired topay duty," said the Goanese.

  "But where's the collector?" Yerkes demanded.

  "I am only assistant," was the answer. "How should I know?"

  The man's insolence, of demeanor and words, was unveiled, and the morewe argued with him the more sullen and evasive he grew, until at lasthe ordered us out of the office. At that we took chairs and announcedour intention of staying until the collector should come or be fetched.We were informed that the collector was the most important governmentofficial in Mombasa--information that so delighted Fred that he grewalmost good tempered again.

  "I'd rather twist a big tail than a little one!" he announced. "Shallwe sing to pass the time?"

  The Goanese called for the askari,* half-soldier, half-police-man, whodrowsed in meek solitude outside the office door.

  ----------------* Askari, soldier.----------------

  "Remove these people, please!" he said in English, and then repeated itin Kiswahili.

  The askari eyed us, shifted his bare feet uncomfortably, screwed up hiscourage, tried to look stern, and said something in his own tongue.

  "Put them out, I said!" said the Goanese.

  "He orders you to put us out!" grinned Fred.

  "The office closes at three," said the Goanese, glancing at the clockin a half-hearted effort to moderate his own daring.

  "Not unless the collector comes and closes it himself, it doesn't!"Fred announced with folded arms.

  Will pulled out two rupees and offered them to the sentry.

  "Go and bring us some food," he said. "We intend to stay in here untilyour bwana makubwa* comes."

  --------------* Bwana makubwa, lit. big master, senior government officer.--------------

  The sentry refused the money, waving it aside with the air of a Caesardeclining a crown.

  "Gee!" exclaimed Will. "You've got to hand it to the British if theytrain colored police to refuse money."

  The askari, it seemed, was a man of more than one kind of discretion.Without another word to the Goanese he saluted the lot of us with asweep of his arm, turned on his heel and vanished--not stopping in hishurry to put on the sandals that lay on the door-step. We amusedourselves while he was gone by flying questions at the Goanese,calculated to disturb what might be left of his equanimity withoutgiving him ground for lawsuits.

  "How old are you?"--"How much pay do you get?"--"How long have you heldyour job?"--"Do you ever get drunk?"--"Are you married?"--"Does yourwife love you?"--"Do you keep white mice?"--"Is your lifeinsured?"--"How often have you been in jail?"--"Are you honest?"--"Areyou vaccinated against the jim-jams?"--"Why is your name Fernandez andnot Braganza?"

  The man was about
distracted, for he had been unwise enough to try toanswer, when suddenly the collector came in great haste and stalkedthrough the office into the inner room.

  "Fernandez!" he called as he passed, and the Goanese hurried after him,hugely relieved. There was five minute's consultation behind thepartition in tones too low for us to catch more than a word or two, andthen Fernandez came out again with a "Now wait and see, my hearties!"smile on his face. He was actually rubbing his palms together, sure ofa swift revenge.

  "He says you are to go in there," he announced.

  So we filed in, Fred Oakes first, and it seemed to me the moment I sawthe collector's face that the outlook was not so depressing. He lookedneither young nor incompetent. His jaw was neither receding nor tooprominent. His neck sat on his shoulders with the air of fullresponsibility, unsought but not refused. And his eyes looked straightinto those of each of us in turn with a frank challenge no honestfellow could resent.

  "Take seats, won't you," he said. "Your names, please?"

  We told him, and he wrote them down.

  "My clerk tells me you tried to bribe the askari. You shouldn't dothat. We are at great pains to keep the police dependable. It's toobad to put temptation in their way."

  Will, with cold precision, told him the exact facts. He listened tothe end, and then laughed.

  "One more Goanese mistake!" he said. "We have to employ them. Theymean well. The country has no money to spend on European officeassistants. Well--what can I do for you?"

  At that Fred cut loose.

  "We want our guns before dark!" he said. "It's the first time mycharacter has been questioned by any government, and I say the same formy friends!"

  "Oh?" said the collector, eying us strangely.

  "Yes!" said Fred.

  "That is so," said I.

  "Entirely so," said Will.

  "I have information," said the collector, tapping with a pencil on hisblotter, "that you men are ivory hunters. That you left Portugueseterritory because the German consul there had to request the Portuguesegovernment to expel you."

  "All easily disproved," said Fred. "Confront us, please, with ouraccusers."

  "And that Lord Montdidier, with whom you have been traveling, became sodisgusted with your conduct that he refused to land with you at thisport as he at first intended!"

  We all three gasped. The first thing that occurred to me, and Isuppose to all of us, was to send for Monty. His steamer was notsupposed to sail for an hour yet. But the thought had hardly flashedin mind when we heard the roar of steam and clanking as the anchorchain came home. The sound traveled over water and across roofs likethe knell of good luck--the clanking of the fetters of ill fate.

  "Where's her next stop?" said I.

  "Suez," Fred answered.

  Simultaneously then to all three the thought came too that thisinterpretation of Monty's remaining on board was exactly what wewanted. The more people suspected us of acting independently of himthe better.

  "Confront us with our accusers!" Fred insisted.

  "You are not accused--at least not legally," said the collector. "Youare refused rifle and ammunition permits, that is all."

  "On the ground of being ivory hunters?"

  "Suspected persons--not known to the government--something ratherstronger than rumor to your discredit, and nothing known in your favor."

  "What recourse have we?" Fred demanded.

  "Well--what proof can you offer that you are bona fide travelers orintending settlers? Are you ivory hunters or not?"

  "I'll answer that," said Fred--dexterously I thought, "when I've seen acopy of the game laws. We're law-abiding men."

  The collector handed us a well thumbed copy of the Red Book.

  "They're all in that," he said. "I'll lend it to you, or you can buyone almost anywhere in town. If you decide after reading that to gofarther up country I'm willing to issue provisional game licenses,subject to confirmation after I've looked into any evidence you care tosubmit on your own behalf. You can have your guns against a cashdeposit--"

  "How big?"

  "Two hundred rupees for each gun!"

  Fred laughed. The demand was intended to be away over our heads. Thecollector bridled.

  "But no ammunition," he went on, "until your claim to respectabilityhas been confirmed. By the way, the only claim you've made to me isfor the guns. You've told me nothing about yourselves."

  "Two hundred a gun?" said Fred. "Counting a pistol or revolver asone? Three guns apiece--nine guns--eighteen hundred rupees' deposit?"

  The collector nodded with a sort of grim pleasure in his ownunreasonableness. Fred drew out our new check book.

  "You fellows agreeable?" he asked, and we nodded.

  "Here's a check on the Mombasa Bank for ten thousand, and yourgovernment can have as much more again if it wants it," he said. "Makeme out a receipt please, and write on it what it's for."

  The collector wrote. He was confused, for he had to tear up more thanone blank.

  "I suppose we get interest on the money at the legal local rate?" askedFred maliciously.

  "I'll inquire about that," said the collector.

  "Excuse me," said Fred, "but I'm going to give you some advice. Whileyou're inquiring, look into the antecedents of Lady Isobel SaffrenWaldon! It's she who gave out the tip against us. Her tip's a badone. So is she."

  "She hasn't applied for guns or a license," the collector answeredtartly. "It's people who want to carry firearms--people ableand likely to make trouble whom we keep an eye on."

  "She's more likely to make trouble for you than a burning house!" putin Will Yerkes. "If my partner hadn't paid you that check I'd be allfor having this business out! I'm going to let them know in the Stateswhat sort of welcome people receive at this port!"

  "You came of your own accord. You weren't invited," the collectoranswered.

  "That's a straight-out lie!" snapped Will. "You know it's a lie! Why,there isn't a newspaper in South Africa that hasn't been carrying adsof this country for months past. Even papers I've had sent me from theStates have carried press-agent dope about it. Why, you've beenyelling for settlers like a kid squalling for milk--and you say we'renot invited now we've come here! I'm going to write and tell the U. S.papers what that dope is worth!"

  "Ivory hunters are not settlers," the collector interjected.

  "Who said we're ivory hunters?" Will was in a fine rage, and Fred andI leaned back to enjoy the official's discomfort. "Besides, your adsbragged about the big game as one of the chief attractions! All theinformation you can possibly have against us must have come from afemale crook in the pay of the German government! You're not behavingthe way gentlemen do where I was raised!"

  "There is no intention to offend," said the collector.

  "Intention is good!" said Will, laughing in spite of himself. "There'sanother thing I want to know. What about ammunition? We're to haveour guns. They're useless without cartridges. What about it?"

  "The guns shall be sent to your hotel tonight. The provisionalsporting licenses--if you want them--will be ready tomorrowmorning--seven hundred and fifty rupees apiece--I'll charge themagainst your deposit. If the licenses should be confirmed afterinquiry, I will send you permits through the post for fifty rounds ofammunition each."

  Will snorted. Fred Oakes yelled with laughter, and I gaped withindignation.

  "I'm going into this to the hilt!" spluttered Fred. "I wouldn't havemissed it for a fortune! We three are going to constitute ourselves acommittee of inspection. We're going to wander the country over andreport home to the newspapers--South African--British--U. S. A.--andany other part of the world that's interested! We won't worry aboutammunition. Send us permits for whatever quantity seems to you proper,and we'll note it all down in our diaries!"

  We all stood up, the collector obviously uncomfortable and we, if notat ease, at least happier than we had been.

  Fred nodded to the collector genially, an
d we all walked out.

  Mombasa is a fairly large island, but the built-over part of it issmall, so it was not surprising that we should emerge from the officeface to face with Lady Saffren Waldon. She was the one surprised, notwe. She probably thought she had spiked our guns in that part of theworld forever, and the sight of us coming laughing from the very officewhere we should have been made glum must have been disconcerting.

  She was riding on one of the little trolley-cars, pushed by two boys inwhite official uniform, dressed in her flimsiest best, a lace parasolacross her knee, and beside her an obvious member of thegovernment--young, and so recently from home as not to have lost hispink cheeks yet.

  Had there not been an awning over the trolley-car she might have usedthe parasol to make believe she had not seen us. But the awningprecluded that, and we were not more than two or three yards away.

  "Laugh!" whispered Fred.

  So we crossed the track laughing and the trolley had to pause to let usby. We laughed as we raised our helmets to her--laughed both at herand at the pink and white puppy she had taken in leash. And then thesort of thing happened that nearly always does when men with areasonable faith in their own integrity make up their minds to seeopprobrium through. Fate stepped hard on our arm of the balance.

  If built-over Mombasa is a small place, so is Africa. So is the world.Striding down the hill from the other hotel, the rival one, the Royal,came a man so well known in so many lands that they talk of naming atenth of a continent after him--the mightiest hunter since Nimrod, andvery likely mightier than he; surely more looked-up to andrespected--a little, wiry-looking, freckled, wizened man whose beardhad once been red, who walked with a decided limp and blinked geniallyfrom under the brim of a very neat khaki helmet.

  "Why, bless my soul if it isn't Fred Oakes!" he exclaimed, in asqueaky, worn-out voice that is as well known as his face, andquickened his pace down-hill.

  "Courtney!" said Fred. "There's only one man I'd rather meet!"

  The little man laughed. "Oh, you and your Montdidier are stillinseparable, I suppose! How are you, Fred? I'm glad to see you. Whoare your friends?"

  At that minute out came the collector from his office--stood on thestep, and stared. Fred introduced us to Courtney, and I experiencedthe thrill of shaking hands with the man accounts of whose exploits hadfired my schoolboy imagination and made stay-at-home life forever afteran impossibility.

  "I missed the steamer, Fred. Not another for a week. Going down nowto see about a passage to Somaliland. I suppose you'll be at the clubafter dinner?"

  "No" said Fred. "We've an invitation, but I think we'll send a noteand say we can't come. We'll dine at our hotel and sit on the verandaafterward."

  I wondered what Fred was driving at, and so did the collector who washeaded across the street and listening with all ears.

  "That so? Not a bad idea. They've very kindly made me an honorarymember of the club, but I rather expect there's a string to that--eh,Fred, don't you? They'll expect stories,--stories. I get tired oftelling the same tales so many times over. Suppose I join you fellows,eh? I'm at the Royal. You at the other place? Suppose I join youafter dinner, and we have a pipe together on the veranda?"

  "Nothing I'd like better," said Fred, and I felt too pleased with theprospect to say anything at all. Growing old is a foolish andunnecessary business, but there is no need to forego while young thethrills of unashamed hero-worship; in fact, that is one of the ways ofcontinuing young. It is only the disillusioned (poor deceived ones)and the cynics, who grow old ungracefully.

  We went upstreet, through the shadow of the great grim fort. Thetrolley-car trundled down among the din, smells and colors of thebusiness-end of town. Looking over my shoulder I saw Courtney talkingto the collector.

  "We're getting absolution, Fred!" said I.

  "I'm not sure we need it," Fred answered. "I hope Courtney won't telltoo much!" So quickly does a man jump from praying for friends atcourt to fearing them!

  "Courtney looked to me," said Will, "like a man who would give no gamesaway."

  "Glad you think that of him," said Fred.

  "Why?"

  "Tell you later, maybe."

  But he did not tell until after dinner. (It was a good dinner for EastAfrica. Shark steak figured in it, under a more respectable name; andthere was zebu hump, guinea-fowl, and more different kinds of fruitthan a man could well remember.) When it was over we sat in deeparmchairs on the long wide veranda that fronts the whole hotel. Theevening sea-breeze came and wafted in on us the very scents of Araby;the night sounds that whisper of wilderness gave the lie to a tinklingguitar that somewhere in the distance spoke of civilized delights. Thesurf crooned on coral half a mile away, and very good cigar smoke (froma box that Monty had sent ashore with our belongings) supplementedcoffee and the other aids to physical contentment. Then, limpingbetween the armchairs, and ashamed that we should rise to greethim--motioning us down again with a little nervous laugh--Courtney cameto us. Within five minutes of his coming the world, and the clock, andthe laws of men might have all reversed themselves for aught we cared.Without really being conscious he was doing it Courtney plunged intoour problem, grasped it, sized it up, advised us, flooded us withpriceless, wonderful advice, and did it with such almost femininesympathy that I believe we would have been telling him our love-affairsat last, if a glance at the watch he wore in a case at his belt had nottold him it was three A. M.

  "There's trouble" he began when he had filled his pipe. "You boys arein trouble. What is it?" he asked, shifting and twitching in hisseat--refusing an armchair--refusing a drink.

  "Tell us first what's the matter with you," said Fred.

  "Oh, nothing. An old wound. A lion once dragged me by this shoulderhalf a mile or so. At this time of year I get pains. They last a dayor two, then pass--Go on, tell me!"

  He never sat really still once that whole evening, yet never oncecomplained or made a gesture of impatience.

  "I propose," said Fred, with a glance at Yerkes and me, "to tellCourtney everything without reserve."

  The little old hunter nodded, watching us with bright blue eyes. Ireceived the impression that he knew more secrets than he could tellshould he talk down all the years that might be left him. He was thesort of man in whom nearly every one confides.

  "We're after Tippoo Tib's ivory!" said Fred, plunging into the middleof things. "Monty has gone to drive a bargain with the King ofBelgium. Do you think it's a wild goose chase?"

  Courtney chuckled. "No," he said. "I wouldn't call it that. They'vebeen killing elephants in Africa ever since the flood. Ivory must haveaccumulated. It's somewhere. Some of it must be so old and wellseasoned as to be practically priceless, unless rats have spoiled it.Rats play old Harry with ivory, you know."

  "Have you a notion where it is?" demanded Fred.

  Courtney laughed. "Behold me leaving the country!" he said."If I knew I'd look. If I saw I'd take!"

  "Can you give us a hint?"

  "There are caves near the summit of Mount Elgon that would hold theworld's revenues. None of them have ever been thoroughly explored.Cannibals live in some of them. Cannibals and caverns is a combinationthat might appeal to Tippoo Tib, but there's no likelihood that heburied all that ivory in one place, you know. I suspect the greaterpart is in the Congo, and that the Germans know its whereabouts withina mile or two."

  "How did they discover it?"

  "Why don't they dig it out?"

  "What keeps 'em from turning their knowledge into money?"

  We had forgotten our own troubles. Courtney, too, seemed to forget forthe moment that he had began by asking us a question.

  "Remember Emin Pasha? When was it--'87--'88--'89 that Stanley went andrescued him? Perhaps you recall what was then described as Emin'singratitude after the event? British government offered him a billet.Khedive of Egypt cabled him the promise of a job, all on Stanley'srecommendation. Emin turned 'em all down and accept
ed a job from theGermans. Nobody understood it at the time. My own idea is that Eminthought he knew more or less where that hoard is. He didn't reallywant to come away with Stanley, you know. Being a German, I suppose hepreferred to share his secret with his own crowd. I dare say hethought of telling Stanley but judged that the 'Rock breaker' mightdemand a too large share. The value of the stuff must be so enormousthat it's almost worth going to war about, from the point of view of anation hungry for new colonies. Emin is dead, and it's likely he leftno exact particulars behind him. To my personal knowledge the Germanshave had a swarm of spies for a long time operating beyond the Congoborder."

  "Were you looking for the stuff yourself?" I asked.

  "Oh, no," he laughed. "But when I'm hunting I look about me. I'lltell you where the stuff may possibly be. There's a section of countrycalled the Bahr el Gazal that the Congo people claim, but that Ibelieve will eventually prove to lie on the British side of theboundary. It was good elephant country--which is to say bad living andtraveling for man--since the earth took shape out of ooze. Awfulswampy, malarious, densely wooded, dangerous country, sparselyinhabited by savages not averse to cannibalism when they'veopportunity. The ivory may be there. If the Germans know it's therethey're naturally afraid the British government would claim the wholedistrict the minute the secret was out. Their plan may possibly be towait until a boundary dispute arises in the ordinary course of time(keeping a cautious eye on the cache meanwhile, of course) and thentake the Congo government side. If they can contrive to have itacknowledged as Congo territory, they might then pick a quarrel withthe Congo government--or come to some sort of terms with them."

  "They've patience," I said, "if they're playing that game!"

  Courtney raised his eyebrows until his forehead was a mass of deepwrinkles. Then he blew a dozen smoke rings.

  "Patient--perhaps. It's my impression they're as remorseless andpersistent as white ants--undermining, digging, devouring everywherewhile the rest of the world sleeps. Do you remember there was a mutinyof native troops in Uganda not many years ago? Some said that wasbecause the troops were being paid in truck instead of money, and likemost current excuses that one had some truth in it. But the menthemselves vowed they were going to set up an African Muhammedanempire."

  "What had that to do with Germans?" asked Fred.

  "Nothing that I can personally prove" said Courtney. "But I've a broadacquaintance among natives, and considerable knowledge of theirtongues. Muhammedanism is spreading among them very rapidly. Over andover again, beside camp-fires, and in the dark when they thought I wasnot listening, I have heard them talk of missionaries from Germanterritory who spread a doctrine of what you might call pan-Islam forlack of a better name. I said at the time of the Uganda mutiny that Ibelieved Germans were behind it. I've seen no reason to change myopinion since. It's obvious that if the mutiny had by some ill chancesucceeded Uganda would have been an easy prey for Karl Peters and hisGermans. If that ivory of Tippoo Tib's is really in the Bahr el Gazalat the back of Uganda, then the German motive for stirring up theUganda mutiny would be obvious."

  "But doesn't our government know all this?" demanded Fred.

  "That depends on what you mean by the word know," answered Courtney."I've made no secret of my own opinion!"

  "But they wouldn't listen?"

  "Some did, some didn't. The Home government--which was the IndiaOffice in those days--took no notice whatever. One or two men out herebelieved, but I think they're dead. When the Foreign Office took thecountry over I don't suppose they overhauled old reports verycarefully. I dare say my letters on the subject lie inches deep indust."

  "England doesn't deserve to keep her colonies!" vowed Fred, caught in asudden flood of indignation.

  Courtney laughed.

  "When you've seen as many of the other nations' colonies as I haveyou'll qualify that verdict! We do our best. God gave us our work todo, and the devil came and made us stupid! Take this country, forinstance."

  "Yes!" agreed Fred. "Take this country! We came ashore today--leftMonty on board ship on his way to Europe. Nobody knew a thing aboutus. A female woman, known to the police in Zanzibar and so notoriousin Europe that she's in no hurry to go home--said, too, on every handto be in the pay of the German government--chose to tell lies about usto the chuckle-headed puppies in charge of Mombasa. Net result--whatdo you suppose?"

  "I know," said Courtney. "I've been told this evening." His eyeschanged, and his voice took on the almost feminine note of appeal thatcame strangely from a big game hunter. "You boys must overlook things.These boys you're angry with are younger than you, Fred. Thatcollector you've contrived to pick a quarrel with has fought Arabs andcannibal troops--odds against him of fifty or a hundred to one, mindyou--all across the Congo and back again. He fought in the Ugandamutiny. He's a man. He's a merchant, though, with a merchant'seducation. He was taken over with the rest of the clerks when theBritish government superseded the British East Africa Trading Company.He has never had the advantage of legal training. Went to a commonschool. No advantages of any kind. Poorly paid and overworked.There's no money in the country yet. Nobody to tax.Salaries--expenses and so on come from home, voted by Parliament. Aslong as that condition lasts they're all going to feel nervous. Theyknow they'll get the blame for everything that goes wrong, and preciouslittle credit in any case. Parliament advertised the country in answerto their complaints of no revenue. Parliament called for settlers.But they're not ready for settlers. They don't know how to handlethem. They've no troops--nothing but a handful of black police. Howshall they keep in order colonials armed with repeating rifles?They're not ready. The Uganda Railway isn't finished yet; trains getthrough to Victoria Nyanza once a week, but there's endless work to bedone yet on the line, and Parliament grudges them every penny theyspend on it. Yet the railway was rushed through by order of Parliamentto prevent Doctor Karl Peters and the Germans from claiming occupationof the head-waters of the Nile and so dominating Upper Egypt. You boysmust be considerate."

  "All right," said Fred. "I'll grant all that."

  "But what gets me" Will interrupted, "is that they should condemn usout-of-hand--on sight--untried--on the say-so of this Lady SaffrenWaldon. She carries German letters of credit. She's so notoriously inleague with Germans that you'd think even these little Napoleons 'udknow it. I'm American myself, thank God, but these two men are theirown kith and kin. Why should they judge their own countrymen unheardon the say-so of a woman like that? That's what rattles me!"

  Courtney blew six smoke rings.

  "You'll have to forgive them, lad. Too many of the Englishmen who havecome here were bad bats from the South, so hot-footed that they burnedthe grass. Then--don't forget that the Germans have a militarygovernment to the south of us--all experienced men--a great many ofthem unmitigated rascals, but nearly all of them clever--students ofstrategy and psychology and tactics--some of them brilliant men whohave had to apply for colonial service because of debt or scandal.They're overmanned where we are under-manned--backed up from home whereour boys are only blamed and neglected--well supplied with troops andammunition, where our police are kept down to the danger point and nowand then even without cartridges. The Germans have no railway yet, butthey've a policy and they keep it secret. We have a railway, and nopolicy except retrenchment and economy. I'm convinced the Germangovernment has no scruples. We have. So you must sympathize with ouryoung men, not quarrel with them."

  "Believe me," I said, "we didn't start out to quarrel with anybody.That woman lied about us. There's no excuse for believing her withoutgiving us a hearing."

  "Oh, yes there is. I spoke with her myself this evening," saidCourtney. "She's staying at my hotel, you know. She's a match formuch more experienced men than our young officials. They've beenfighting Arabs, not flirting. She had the impudence to try to flatterme. I don't doubt she's telling a crowd of men tonight that I'm inlove with her--perhaps not exactly tellin
g them that, but giving themto understand it. Why don't I stroll down to the club and deny it?For the same reason that you don't openly denounce her! It's semi- orwholly-sentimental chivalry--rank stupidity, if you like to call itthat, but it's national, I'm glad to say, and I'm as proud of it as anyone."

  "Doesn't it look to you," said Fred, "that if she and the Germangovernment are so infernally anxious to spoil our chances--and theysuspect what we're after, you know--doesn't it look to you as if theremay really be something in this quest of ours?"

  "Undoubtedly," said Courtney. "There's ivory in it, tons and tons andtons of ivory. Somebody will find it some day."

  "Join us then!" said Fred. "Cancel your trip to Somaliland and comewith us! I can speak for Monty. I know he'll welcome you into thepartnership!"

  "I believe I could almost speak for Monty, too," laughed Courtney. "Heand I were at Eton together, and we've never ceased being friends. ButI can't come with you. No. I'm making a sort of semi-official trip.I shall hunt, of course, but there are observations to be made. Thepan-Islamic theory is said to be making headway also in Somaliland."

  "Do you feel you have any lien on the Elgon Caves and Bahr el Gazalclues?" Fred asked.

  "No. I make you a present of those ideas. I'm sure I hope you findthe stuff. I'm wondering, though--I'm wondering."

  "I'll bet you a dollar I'm thinking of the same thing," said Will.

  "Out with it, then."

  "What's to prevent the Germans from making their own dicker with theKing of the Belgians or with the Congo government, and rifling thehoard on a fifty-fifty or some such basis?"

  "Correct," said Courtney. "I confess myself puzzled about that. But Iknow no European politics. There may be a thousand reasons. And then,you know, the King of the Belgians has the name of being a graspingdealer. The management of his private zone on the Congo isunspeakable. It's possible the Germans may prefer not to risk puttingHis Majesty on the scent."

  "Well, we've our work cut out," said Fred, laughing and yawning. "Thatwoman has started us off with a bad name."

  "That is one thing I can really do for you," Courtney answered. "I'veno official standing, but the boys all listen to me. I'll tell them--"

  "For the love of God don't tell them too much!" Fred exclaimed.

  "I'll tell them you're friends of mine," he went on. "I believe thatwill solve the sporting license and ammunition problem. As for thewoman--if I were in your shoes I would steal a march on her. Iwouldn't be surprised if your licenses and ammunition permits were hereat the hotel by ten tomorrow morning. I see they've sent your gunsalready. Well, there's a train for Nairobi tomorrow noon, and notanother for three days. I'd take tomorrow's train if I were you. Ialways find in going anywhere the start's the principal thing. You'llgo?"

  "We will," we answered, one after the other.

  "Good night, then, boys; I'll be going."

  But we walked with him down to his hotel--I, and I think the others,full to the teeth with the pleasure of knowing him, as well as of envyof his scars, his five or six South African campaigns, his adventures,and (by no means least) his unblemished record as a gentleman. Merelya little bit of a man with a limp, but better than a thousand men wholacked his gentleness.